


The family business once more (hunts and wedding rings)

by waterbird13



Series: Writing our own Vows [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean in Panties, Light Bondage, M/M, Suit Kink, Switching, brief non-graphic mention of vomit, discussion of hell trauma, roleplaying, roleplaying as strangers, series typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1201660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean's break between hunts gets cut short, but they still find plenty of time to spend together while on the next job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The family business once more (hunts and wedding rings)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, folks.  
> Okay, here's part Nine. Thank you to Kirby for bouncing ideas back and forth with me, and credit goes to him for the idea for the last scene.  
> Warnings/enticements: Explicit gay incestuous sex. Switching. Dean wears panties, Sam has a suit kink, some light bondage, they role-play as strangers a bit. There's some canon-typical violence (it's actually more mild here, I'd say), a brief, non-graphic mention of vomit, and some of Sam and Dean's hell memories are brought up. I think that's all.  
> Enjoy.

            For once, Sam is driving. He looks suspicious when Dean offers him the keys, but Dean just smiles innocently. Dean waits almost three hours into the drive back to the Bunker before he starts, allowing Sam to fall into a false sense of calm. Dean is proud of himself for waiting that long, because he’s been keyed up and half-hard most of the day.

            His hand creeps up Sam’s thigh, teasing at the seam of his jeans, fingertips dancing close to Sam’s crotch before sliding back down.

            “Dean,” Sam says tightly. “Stop that. Need to focus.”

            Dean makes a show of peering out the windshield. “Deserted road, Sammy, you’ll be fine.”

            Sam opens his mouth to object, but Dean doesn’t let him get anything out. “Not gonna do anything stupid, Sammy,” Dean soothes. “Just wanna touch. You let me touch, I tell you what I’m wearing,” he offers, smirking at the thought.

            Sam looks over at him quickly. “Dirt-stained jeans and a shirt with a hole in the shoulder? Wow, Dean, really pulling out all the stops for me.”

            “It’s about what you _can’t_ see,” Dean says.

            Sam swallows, Dean’s hand creeping up his thigh once more. “Yeah?”

            “Mhm,” Dean confirms. “Went shopping. Online. All sorts of things online these days.”

            “Yeah?” Sam asks again, and he seems to be getting it now.

            “Satin,” Dean offers, watching with glee as Sam bites his lip to keep back a moan at the thought. “Feels so good, Sammy, god, you have no idea.”

            “What do they look like?” Sam asks, voice low.

            Dean chuckles. “Nuh-uh, not yet. You wanna see them, you get us home and get my pants off.”

            Sam mutters a quiet “ _fuck_ ,” and speeds up, going fifteen over the speed limit down that deserted road back to Kansas.

            “Careful,” Dean cautions. “Don’t wanna get pulled over, baby, have to explain what’s got you hard and desperate already.”

            Sam slows down but only slightly, getting them back to the bunker as fast as he can. Dean keeps his hand on Sam’s thigh, sometimes teasing him with caressing fingers sneaking up higher and higher, sometimes just resting against Sam’s denim-clad thigh.

            They arrive back at the Bunker and Sam parks the Impala in the garage, barely taking a moment to turn off the car before swinging his door open and climbing out, speed-walking around to where Dean is exiting the car.

            Sam pushes Dean against the Impala and kisses him hard, and Dean eagerly opens his mouth to Sam, allowing the two of them to kiss for several minutes before pulling away, muttering “not here.”

            Sam nods. “Bedroom.” He grabs Dean’s hand and pulls him upstairs and down the hall to their room, shutting the door behind them.

            Dean grins as Sam pushes him against the just-closed door, boxing Dean in and sucking a bruise into Dean’s neck.

            “Fucking hell, Dean,” Sam hisses. “Such a fucking tease.”

            “Mmm,” Dean agrees, already a little breathless as Sam’s voice vibrates against his throat, Sam’s hands wandering under the hem of Dean’s t-shirt. “You like it.”

            “Fuck, yes,” Sam murmurs. “Can’t believe you, all day, in the car…it feel good, Dean? Feel good to have satin rubbing at your cock all day long?”

            Dean groans at the thought, but before he can say anything, Sam’s talking again. “Get your panties nice and wet for me, Dean? You’ve been hard and leaking all day, haven’t you?”

            Sam doesn’t wait for an answer, just flicks open the button on Dean’s jeans and pulls down his fly, reaching into Dean’s jeans, gently pressing his fingers to Dean’s aching cock, still encased in satin panties.

            Dean’s eyes close at Sam’s touch, whimpering as Sam drags his fingers over the material, making it rub against Dean’s length.

            “You _are_ wet for me,” Sam says approvingly, fingers dancing over the wet spot where the head rubs against the panties.

            Sam still has one hand under Dean’s shirt, and he starts to push it up. Dean gets the hint and tugs his shirt off, pulls his jeans down and kicks them off, Sam’s fingers still tracing his cock. “Beautiful, Dean,” Sam rasps, eyes rapt on Dean, naked except for his panties.

            They’re new, and Sam hasn’t seen them yet, and Dean feels a little bit of self-conscious pride when Sam can’t seem to look away. Since Dean has stopped raiding the women’s lingerie section and instead taken to ordering panties for men online, they fit him perfectly. Dean grins as Sam’s eyes catch on the little bows on each hip, trace over the light blue satin covering Dean’s cock. Dean thrusts his hips forward into Sam’s lingering touch, inviting more.

            “Fuck,” Sam finally says, voice broken. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you know that?”

            “Yeah?” Dean asks.

            “All dressed up, so pretty for me,” Sam says, leaning forward to suck another bruise into Dean’s neck. Dean tilts his head to the side to allow Sam more access. Sam pulls back and blows air across the forming bruise, making Dean shiver. “So goddamn fuckable, and look at you, already wet and leaking in your pretty new panties. What do you want, Dean?”

            Dean opens his mouth to respond but only manages to let out a low moan as Sam reaches down and cups Dean’s balls through the fabric of the panties, hefting them and squeezing gently with one if his big hands. “Fuck, Sammy—“

            “What d’you want, Dean?” Sam prompts gently, releasing Dean’s balls and trailing his fingers further back, making Dean spread his legs a little wider as Sam lightly drags his fingers over the silky material.

            “Sammy—“ Dean whines, “Sammy, can’t think…”

            Sam’s hands withdraw. “I want to open you on my tongue,” he announces. “Want to make you wet and loose and sloppy for me, want you to make your panties wet with how much you like it. You want that, Dean?”

            “Fuck,” Dean breathes.

            “Take that as a yes,” Sam says, and before Dean even knows what’s happening, Sam bends enough to hook one arm under Dean’s knees, picking Dean up and carrying him to the bed, setting him down before stepping back and tugging at his own clothes. Sam must feel Dean’s eyes on him, because he grins and slows his hands, pulling his clothes off slowly and keeping eye-contact with Dean.

            There’s a large hickey on Sam’s collarbone, purpling now, and Dean can’t take his eyes off of it. He put it there, two days before, and can’t help but grin at the sight.

            Finally, Sam is naked and crawls up onto the bed, looming over Dean. He leans down for a bruising kiss that Dean eagerly returns, reaching his hands up around Sam, fingers digging into Sam’s shoulders, pulling him even closer.

            Sam breaks the kiss, much to Dean’s displeasure, but he makes up for it pretty quick, moving down Dean’s body, nipping at his throat before trailing down to his chest, teasing Dean’s nipples with the very tip of his tongue. Dean whines and arches up into the teasing touch, but Sam doesn’t linger, pressing kisses into Dean’s stomach before repositioning himself, kneeling between Dean’s open legs.

            Sam teases the edge of Dean’s panties with his tongue before trailing his tongue over the material, adding his own saliva to the growing wet-spot, Dean’s cock leaking under Sam’s ministrations. Sam licks and sucks Dean through the panties for a few minutes. Dean begins to moan and whine, pushing up towards Sam’s mouth, seeking more, and eventually Sam gives in and gives it to him.

            He pulls back and grins at Dean. “Ass in the air,” he says with a wicked look. “Gonna pull your panties down and tongue-fuck your hole, Dean, make you wet and ready for me, want that?”

            Dean can’t move fast enough, flips himself around, giving Sam unobstructed access to his ass.

            Sam’s big palms land on Dean’s ass, kneading the satin-encased cheeks. “So gorgeous,” Sam murmurs. Dean flushes a bit and presses back into Sam’s hands.

            Sam moves his hands and pulls the fabric down, leaving Dean’s ass bare, his panties stretched tight around his thighs. Dean already feels wrecked and debauched, and they haven’t even really started yet.

            Sam doesn’t waste anytime, leans down and blows across Dean’s hole, making Dean twitch and whimper. “So desperate for me…” Sam murmurs, almost to himself.

            Dean expects Sam to tease him longer but Sam seems as impatient as Dean is, using his big hands to spread Dean wide and moving closer, licking over Dean’s hole with one broad, flat stroke of his tongue. Dean bites his lip to stifle his whimper.

            “Get loud for me, Dean,” Sam says. “Wanna hear you, wanna hear how good I’m making you feel,” he says before setting back in, teasing around Dean’s rim.

            “Fuck, Sammy,” Dean curses, pushing his hips back in a blatant invitation for more. Sam’s hands pull at Dean slightly, holding him open even wider. He pushes his tongue against Dean’s hole, and Dean opens eagerly for the intrusion.

            “Fuck, Sammy,” he gasps, grinding his hips back against Sam’s face. “Fuck, feels good, baby.”

            Sam hums in agreement against Dean’s hole, making Dean whimper.

            Sam sets in like rimming Dean is the highlight of his day, curling his tongue just right to make Dean whimper and moan under him, pulling back to tease Dean’s rim with sucking kisses and tormenting licks just to make Dean whine and rock back, desperate for more.

            “Sammy…Sammy, please,” Dean whimpers. “More.”

            “More what?” Sam asks, voice a breath against Dean’s hole, causing the muscle to twitch. “What do you want, Dean?”

            “Fuck me,” Dean begs. “Sammy, _fuck me_.”

            “Want me to fuck you, your pretty panties pulled tight ‘round your thighs?” Sam asks, sliding one finger under the elastic, pulling it out and letting it snap back against Dean’s thighs for emphasis. Dean moans at the reminder that he’s ass-up in their bed, pretty satin panties stretched tight around his thighs, pulled down so Sam could eat him out.

            “Just like this, Sammy,” Dean says.

            “Yeah,” Sam agrees, and he pulls back and away, reaching under the pillow for the lube. Dean turns his head to watch Sam as best he can, watches Sam fumble with the bottle and pour out far more lube than he intended, spilling some onto the bedspread. That will annoy Dean later he knows, but for now all he can think about is Sam’s fingers inside of him, and lube all over the bedspread seems like a small price to pay for that.

            Sam doesn’t give Dean any warning, just pushes one finger inside Dean, immediately seeking Dean’s prostate, making Dean moan.

            Sam leans down and peppers kisses over Dean’s back as he presses a second finger into Dean, and then, after a minute or two of him stretching Dean carefully, he slides a third finger in.

            Dean mewls, “Sammy, ‘m ready, c’mon, baby, wanna feel you in me, _now_ , Sammy…”

            “Sam chuckles against Dean’s lower back. “Patience,” he soothes. Nevertheless, he seems as impatient as Dean, pumping his fingers in and out of Dean for another minute before he pulls them out and slicks up his cock.

            “Ready for me?” he asks, lining himself up.

            “ _Now_ , Sam,” Dean orders. “In me, now, fuck me, Sammy…”

            Sam doesn’t ask again, doesn’t delay a second longer. He pushes into Dean with one long, slow thrust, pushing a low, steady moan out of Dean.

            Sam starts slow, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in, the delicious drag of his cock making Dean shake and shudder. Sam’s hands grip Dean’s hips, pulling him back into every thrust, getting even deeper inside of Dean.

            “Sammy…I, god, _Sammy…_ ” Dean whines, words failing him as Sam hits his sweet spot again and again.

            “Shhh,” Sam soothes, “got you, Dean.” He takes one hand from Dean’s hip and brings it down to his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “Come, Dean,” Sam orders gently, and between the feeling of Sam inside of him and Sam’s hand on his cock, Dean does, moaning Sam’s name as he shoots white ropes of come over the bedspread and himself.

            Sam continues to thrust into Dean, hard, erratic thrusts that make Dean slide forward a few inches on the bed before Sam comes as well, grunting as he fills Dean with come.

            Sam pulls out of Dean after a moment and falls back onto the bed, reaching up to tug Dean so he’s lying down too. They stay like that for a moment, catching their breath, and then Sam sits up again.

            “Where you goin’?” Dean asks, reaching for Sam.

            “Not going anywhere,” Sam says, kneeling beside Dean’s legs. He reaches for the panties still around Dean’s thighs and begins to tug them down, the motion slow and tender.

            “Thanks, Sammy,” Dean says quietly.

            Sam pulls the panties off over Dean’s feet and sets them aside, dropping them onto the pile of clothes on the floor. “Liked those,” Sam says. “Looked real good on you, Dean.”

            Dean smiles. “Got more,” he offers. “I ordered four pairs. But you’re going to have to wait to see what the others look like.”

            Sam groans. “You are a fucking tease.” He lays back down next to Dean and turns on his side so he’s looking at him. He reaches over and trails one finger through the cooling come on Dean’s stomach, raises the finger to his mouth and licks it clean.

            “That cannot taste good,” Dean says, wrinkling his nose.

            Sam grins. “Want a taste?”

            He leans in for a kiss and Dean can taste his own come in Sam’s mouth, and he was right, come doesn’t taste great, but something about licking the taste out of Sam’s mouth makes it much more appealing.

            They kiss for a while, unhurried, gentle forays into each other’s mouths, until the come on Dean’s stomach starts to dry and itch. He breaks the kiss. “Shower,” he says, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed, grabbing his robe and shrugging it on.

            He turns to find Sam, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. Once they’re both covered, they walk down the hall to the bathroom, and Sam starts the shower, tugging Dean inside with him as soon as the water is hot.

            They clean up quickly, exhaustion slipping in after a week working a case and all day in the car and some great sex. They soap each other up and rinse each other off and, although they sneak a few kisses in, it never becomes more heated than that.

            Once they’re clean, they get out and dry off, Dean pulling his robe back on and Sam pulling his sweatpants back up, and they go back to their room, going right for the bed. Dean ignores the messy bedspread in desperate need of a wash in favor of sleep, crawling under the covers and pressing himself into Sam’s side. Sam turns into him, nose buried in Dean’s hair, and they fall asleep like that.

 

            Dean wakes alone the next morning, and panic momentarily grips him before he realizes that there is a note on Sam’s pillow. _Running_ , it says. Dean crumples up the note and tosses it away, the crumpled ball sailing smoothly into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. He sits up and swings his legs off the bed, pulls on a clean set of clothes and cleans up the mess they made the night before, carrying their clothes and the bedspread to the antique washer, sorting the mess all out and starting a load.

            Once the wash is running he goes to the kitchen, digs through the fridge to see what they have left after a week of him and Sam being gone. Surprisingly, it looks like Kevin and Cas went shopping, because there’s plenty of food left in the fridge. He starts pulling out ingredients for ham hash and eggs, sets to chopping the ingredients and begins to cook.

            “Hey, Dean, I’m back—“ Sam begins, walking into the kitchen. Dean turns only to see Sam pale dramatically.

            “Sammy?” Dean asks worriedly, leaving the stove to move to Sam’s side. He gets half way to Sam before Sam holds out a hand, warning Dean to stay back, and throws up.

            “Sammy!” Dean avoids the vomit on the floor and crosses over to Sam, putting his arms around Sam’s shoulders, essentially holding him upright. “What’s wrong?”

            Sam opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He tries again without about the same amount of success, but fortunately Dean figures it out before it goes any further. “Fuck, the smell. Can you stand?” he asks, and Sam nods, so Dean leaves him long enough to turn off the burners before returning to Sam and pulling him out of the kitchen, dragging him away until they’re in the living room, depositing Sam onto the couch. “You okay to stay there a few minutes?’ Dean asks, and Sam nods, face still white, but his eyes a little more focused than before.

            So Dean goes back and cleans up the mess as quickly as he can, worried about leaving Sam alone for too long. He finishes cleaning and goes back to the living room to find Sam on the couch still. He looks better, the color back in his face, and he’s sitting upright on his own, and he hasn’t thrown up again.

            He looks sheepishly over to Dean. “Sorry about that,” he says quietly.

            Dena sits next to him, takes Sam’s hands in his own and squeezes them. “Don’t need to be worry,” he says. “I should’ve known…warned you, or…”

            Sam snorts. “Or what? It’s a kitchen, it’s breakfast time, I should’ve known you’d be cooking meat. I shouldn’t even…that shouldn’t even be happening, Dean,” he says, staring intently at their hands instead of Dean’s face.

            Dena bumps their hips together. “Can’t control the memories always, Sammy,” he says quietly.

            Sam snorts. “It doesn’t even smell the same,” he mutters, still not looking up.

            “Close enough,” Dean guesses. He has his own hell nightmares, and while his don’t usually involve his flesh being burnt from his bones, he does remember the smell. And it’s not quite the same, but it probably is close enough for Sam.

            “When we burn a body,” Sam says quietly, “I’m okay because I know it’s coming. When we cook together, or go to a restaurant or whatever, I’m okay. I expect it. But when I’m surprised…” he trails off. “Sometimes, I’d have…dreams. Good things, you know? You and I on the hood of the Impala having a beer, things like that. And then, boom, I’d be back in the cage. Burning.”

            Dean doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he squeezes Sam’s hands again. “You okay?” he asks, and he knows it’s a stupid question—Sam just had flashbacks to _hell_ , had really, really thought he was back in the cage for a moment, there’s no way he could be anything even close to okay—but Sam nods.

            Dean makes a show of leaning over and pressing his nose behind Sam’s ear and sniffing loudly. He used to do this when Sam was a kid, and it usually made him giggle then, but Sam barely reacts. “You stink,” Dean announces. “What d’you say we get you cleaned up?”

            Sam starts to move. “I can go take a shower,” he says. “You should eat your breakfast.”

            Dean follows him up and impulsively pulls Sam into a hug, kissing the side of his neck briefly. Sam responds almost immediately to the hug, wrapping his arms around Dean and resting his face in Dean’s hair. “Nah,” he says. “Let’s get cleaned up together, then I’ll get you…some of your oatmeal or something.”

            “You hate oatmeal,” Sam says, voice muffled against Dean’s scalp.

            Dean smirks. “Didn’t say _I_ was going to eat it,” he says. “We’ve got normal cereal too, you know.”

            “Lucky Charms?” Sam asks.

            “Mhm,” Dean confirms. “Want some?”

            “Yeah,” Sam says, sounding about as surprised as Dean is. He pulls away. “Shower first, though.”

            “How ‘bout a bath?” Dean asks, following Sam towards the bathroom.

            Sam considers it for a minute but then nods, so Dean fills the tub with hot water and moves Sam’s shampoo and conditioner so he’ll be able to reach them when he needs them. When the tub is filled with hot water, Dean climbs in and motions for Sam to sit between his spread legs.

            The tub isn’t really meant for two, and is certainly not meant for two guys their size, so it’s a bit of a tight fit but Dean is more than willing to make do. He wets Sam’s hair and begins to wash it, careful of Sam’s eyes. As expected, Sam seems to melt under Dean’s fingers slowly massaging at his scalp, letting out a soft sigh and letting his eyes drift closed, leaning more and more of his weight on Dean.

            Dean rinses the shampoo from Sam’s hair and opens the conditioner, pouring some out into his hand and massaging it into Sam’s hair, making the entire bathroom smell slightly fruity. Dean breathes in deep. He makes fun of Sam sometimes for spending as much as he does for hair care products, but the scent is just as comforting to Dean as it is to Sam.

            He rinses Sam’s hair clean once more and reaches for the washcloth, soaps it up and hands it to Sam, who has a much better angle to wash himself considering how they’re sitting. Sam sets to work and, when he’s done, Dean takes the cloth from him and washes Sam’s back.

            They stay in the water until it starts to cool, and Dean would suggest running more, but just then Sam’s stomach growls. “Let’s get you some food,” he says, gently shoving at Sam’s shoulder to let him know he has to get out before Dean can move.

            They towel each other dry and walk back to their room where they pull sweatpants and soft, worn t-shirts out of the dresser, climbing into the soft clothes perfect for a day spent lounging around the Bunker.

            The TV in the other room is bigger, but Dean figures Sam will probably like cuddling in bed, just the two of them, better than watching movies on the couch in a room Cas and Kevin constantly go through.

            “Pick out a movie?” Dean suggests. “I’ll go get your cereal.”

            He pours cereal and makes coffee, throws a couple of bananas onto the tray because he figures Sam will want something healthy after all the sugary cereal. He adds creamer to Sam’s mug of coffee and then brings it to their room, where Sam is already lying in bed, the menu screen for _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ on the TV.

            “This okay?” Sam asks.

            Dean grins and puts the tray on his nightstand and climbs into bed, passing Sam a bowl of cereal and his mug of coffee and a spoon before grabbing his own and pushing closer to Sam. “It’s great, Sammy,” he says.

            They stay like that for almost two hours, setting their dishes aside as they finish with them, Sam leaning his head against Dean’s shoulder as the movie continues to play.

            Sam’s cellphone rings on the dresser, and, grumbling, Sam gets up to answer it.

            “What’s up, Garth?” he asks. “Where?” He listens for a few minutes and fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt while he does. “Yeah, guess we’ll get there as soon as we can,” he finishes before hanging up.

            He sits back onto the bed. “Iowa,” he says. “Probably a shifter. Cops found a body in a field last night, reports say the guy’s been dead over two weeks. The catch is, his girlfriend swears he left for work this morning like usual.”

            “Could be something that, you know, sucks someone dry,” Dean suggests. “Makes them look like they’ve been dead longer than they have.”

            “Yeah,” Sam agrees. “Well, we’ll see. If we hurry, we might be able to get into the morgue before it closes.” He goes to get back out of bed, but Dean gently wraps a hand around Sam’s arm.

            “You okay?” he asks. “We can wait a day, if you’re not. Or call Garth back, give it to someone else.”

            Sam smiles a bit. “’M fine, Dean,” he promises. “Pack your bag. And put a suit on, we’re gonna go straight to the morgue.”

            Dean’s bag, like Sam’s, is still packed from the day before, so Dean does a quick re-pack, swapping dirty clothes for clean ones, checking he has everything he needs. He puts on the suit, grumbling all the while on how he _hates_ wearing the suit and how miserable it’s going to be wearing it for the entire car ride. Sam pretends not to hear his grumbling.

            Sam smoothes down Dean’s suit collar once he’s dressed, fixing Dean’s tie quickly before grabbing his bag. Dean follows him out the door, and, after Sam leaves a note for Kevin and Cas, they head out to the garage and hit the road, Dean driving this time.

            It’s not too long a ride to Iowa, but nevertheless they get there just after five, and miss their opportunity to get to the morgue and talk to the coroner.

            “How the hell does a morgue close at five?” Dean grumbles as he drives around looking for a motel. “Do people not die between five PM and nine AM here or something?”

            “I think it just means the coroner doesn’t work during those hours,” Sam explains patiently. “There, I see a sign, on the left—“

            “Got it,” Dean says, turning into the rather empty parking lot. They go to the office to get a room, Sam trailing after Dean as they register and get a key, and following him once more back to the car for their bags and to the room.

            “You coming?” Dean asks as he unlocks the door, Sam still a few paces behind him.

            “Sorry,” Sam says, coming up to Dean’s side, face flushed. “You just—you look really good in that suit, you know that?”

            Dean grins wickedly. “Oh yeah?” he asks.

            “Mhm,” Sam responds.

            Dean gets the door unlocked and walks inside, dumping his bag on the floor without a care. Sam comes in and shuts the door behind him, dropping his bag.

            Dean grabs Sam’s tie and pulls him close, tugging him into a deep kiss. “You got a bit of a suit kink, Sammy?” Dean asks quietly. He doesn’t give Sam a chance to answer, just tightens his grip on Sam’s tie and pulls Sam into another kiss.

            He breaks the kiss and looks around. “Think that table can hold you?” he asks.

            Sam looks over. “Probably not,” he says.

            “Want to try anyways?”

            “Sure,” Sam says. Dean releases his tie and Sam goes over to the table and lies back on it. Dean grabs the lube from his bag and set it on the table before he helps Sam get his shoes and pants and underwear off, leaving Sam naked from the waist down, shirt and tie and jacket still in place.

            Sam wraps his legs around Dean’s waist and tugs Dean in. Dean takes one of those legs and moves it so it’s thrown over his shoulder, opening Sam for him. He reaches for his own tie and shushes Sam’s objections as he removes it.

            “Hands,” he says, and, mouth hanging open slightly at the thought, Sam offers them to Dean.

            Dean wraps the tie around Sam’s wrists and secures it quickly. It’s a knot Sam could easily pick apart with his teeth or, more likely, would fall apart if Sam tugged particularly hard at the restraints. Still, Sam doesn’t seem to need any more than that. He stretches his bound hands over his head and leaves them there, cock twitching as he gives one easy, testing tug at the tie.

            “Like that?” Dean asks quietly. “Like being spread out for me, Sammy? Hands tied and half-naked, waiting for me to decide what to do with you?” Sam only groans in response.

            They don’t usually play like this. Usually, Dean is the one who likes to be held down and teased, but he can’t exactly say he minds the opportunity to see Sam like this.

            Dean reaches for the lube and pops the cap, slicking his fingers and reaching for Sam’s hole. He fingers Sam open slowly, teasingly, one finger, then two, than three. He alternates between teasing Sam’s prostate until Sam is mindlessly babbling and absolutely leaking precome, and ignoring the spot entirely, much to Sam’s frustration. Sam has one heel pressing into Dean’s ass, one into his shoulder, trying to pull him closer, trying to draw Dean into giving him more. He’s begging for more, a mixture of wordless moans and _please_ and _Dean_ and _fuck_ , and it’s music to Dean’s ears.

            Dean has four fingers inside of Sam, and the teasing is getting to be too much even for him, so he pulls them out with a quiet “Shh, Sammy, gonna fuck you now, okay?” He gets a frantic nod from Sam, so Dean undoes his fly and pushes his pants and underwear down around his thighs.

            He pushes inside of Sam, and, once he’s fully inside, he leans forward and grabs Sam’s tie, pulling Sam up a few inches off the table into another heated kiss. Sam’s practically bent in half like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he bites at Dean’s lower lip and digs his heels into Dean’s back, urging Dean to move. Dean does, his thrusts hard and not entirely controlled, but Sam’s only response, is to push into Dean for more and to moan into Dean’s mouth.

            Sam comes without warning, not a finger on his cock, and he comes with a muffled shout that sounds a lot like _Dean_ against Dean’s lips. Dean can feel the come on his shirt but can’t bring himself to care, not when Sam’s hole is tightening around him like it is.

            Dean continues to thrust through Sam’s orgasm, close to coming himself, and it only takes a few more strokes before he’s filling Sam with come.

            It takes Dean a minute to come back to full alertness, but when he does he realizes he’s squishing Sam into what cannot be a comfortable position, so he backs off, allowing Sam to unfold his legs and let them fall over the edge of the table and to the floor.

            Sam is still lying there, looking completely satiated and unwilling to move. Dean undoes the knot tying Sam’s wrists together, massaging the skin around each wrist before he brings Sam’s arms below his head, resting them at his sides.

            That’s when Dean notices the mess, Sam’s come all over their clothes.

            “Ah, Sammy, c’mon, gotta get up,” Dean says. “Gotta get those clothes off, gotta clean them up. Besides, think the poor table has taken enough, don’t you?”

            Sam grumbles but stands and pulls off his jacket, tie and shirt. “You clothes too,” he says, looking at Dean, so Dean undresses and hands his clothes to Sam.

            “I’ll try to wash them clean if you order dinner,” Sam suggests.

            “Pizza or Chinese?” Dean asks.

            “Chinese,” Sam responds, already halfway to the bathroom.

            Dean flips open Sam’s laptop and finds the number for a local Chinese place, calls in and orders their usual order.

            Sam comes out of the bathroom just as Dean is pulling on a pair of pants so he doesn’t scare the delivery person. “Clean as they’re gonna get,” he announces. “Hanging in the bathroom to dry.”

            “Good,” Dean says. “Put some pants on and see if there’s anything on Cable.”

            Sam does, and he finds a History Channel movie that Dean doesn’t complain too much about, so as soon as the food arrives they sit in bed and watch, stealing cartons from each other’s hands, Dean licking the last Crab-Rangoon so Sam won’t eat it and Sam eating it anyways. The movie eventually flips over to another special, this one about Nazi Hunters and Dean can’t pull his eyes away.

            Somewhere about halfway through, Sam gets up and brushes his teeth, changes into a pair of sweatpants and comes back to bed, lying down with his head on Dean’s thigh.

            “You know,” Dean says once the credits are rolling once more, “I should fuck you over a desk. Strip you bare…well, maybe leave the tie. Tie your hands behind your back. Wear my suit, bend you over and fuck you like that.”

            Sam sucks a sharp breath. “Jesus, Dean.”

            “You like that?” Dean asks, grinning slightly. He pauses for a moment. “You know, there’s that big old desk in the Bunker. Bet you’d like that. We could do that when we get home if you want.”

            “You’re a fucking tease,” Sam complains.

            Dean drags his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Nah, Sammy, I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

            They stay like that for a minute before Sam rolls off Dean’s thigh and onto the pillow. “Goin’ to sleep,” he says, eyes already drifting closed.

            Dean bends down and kisses him softly. “Alright, baby, goodnight,” he says, then grins wickedly. “Hope you have some good dreams.” He pauses for a moment. “Like my cock filling you from behind, feeling my suit against your bare skin…”

            “Dean?” Sam says sleepily.

            “Mhm?”

            “Shut up.”

            Dean laughs quietly. Love you too, Sammy,” he says.

           

            They’re at the morgue around eleven the next day, back in their—mostly clean—suits.  They straighten their suits and grab badges from the glove box—Sam double-checks his, evidently still a little leery after the last time Dean replaced his badge with another “bikini inspector” one—and head into the morgue.

            “Well, that’s gross,” Dean says once the body is rolled out in front of them, wrinkling his nose at the smell. The coroner shoots him a look and Sam gives a put-upon sigh.

            It really is gross, though. The guy was definitely in that field more than a few hours. Animals got to him, leaving him an almost unidentifiable mess. Sam’s theory of shifter is beginning to look like the right answer.

            “Don’t mind him,” Sam says. “Gets squeamish. What can you tell us?”

            Not much, it turns out, except the guy died from a blow to the head and he had indeed been dead for just over two weeks. They thank the man for his time and walk back out to the Impala.

            “Girlfriend next?” Dean suggests. Sam nods and gives Dean the address.

            Her name is Susanna Marks and she lives in a quiet little neighborhood on the other side of town. She opens the door when she sees their badges, allows them into her living room and offers them a drink, which they both decline.

            “I understand you need to do your jobs, agents,” she says, “but there’s been a mistake. Jake’s not dead.”

            Dean lets Sam deal with this. He’s always been the more empathetic one, far better with grieving victims, and Dean is more than willing to let him be the bearer of bad news.

            “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we saw Jake’s body in the morgue about an hour ago,” Sam says.

            “You don’t understand,” she says, voice still mostly patient but frustration creeping in. “It’s not Jake, because Jake called me half an hour ago. He’s alive; he’s at work.”

            Sam and Dean share an uneasy glance. “He called you?”

            She nods. “He should be home soon, actually; he called to tell me he’s coming home for lunch today.”

            Dean raises an eyebrow. “Did you tell him about the mix-up?”

            “Not yet,” she says. “I…I was waiting for him to get home, so we could go to the police and prove it was a big misunderstanding and have a good laugh about it. I didn’t want to upset him at work.”

            Sam gives her a reassuring smile. “Great. Mind if we wait? That way we can clear up this whole thing.”

            She allows them to stay in her living room as she goes back to the kitchen to finish making lunch.

            “You have silver bullets in that gun, right?” Sam asks Dean quietly. He nods. “Good. Looks like we’ll need it.”

            They don’t have to wait very long before the front door is cracking open. Dean reaches for his gun. Sam has a silver knife in one hand and his cellphone in the other, the camera opened and directed towards the door.

            A definitely living version of Jake walks in, and Sam nods his head quickly. Most definitely a shifter, then.

            The shifter seems to recognize them as well. “Winchesters,” he hisses.

            Susanna must have heard him get home too, because she walks in the room towards the shifter, diving into a one-sided conversation about the FBI and the police mix-up.

            Dean hesitates, gun still in his hand. He was hoping not to have to shoot the shifter in front of the girlfriend, not when she doesn’t know the truth. He hesitates a second too long, because the shifter grabs her, using her as a shield.

            She screams. “Jake! Jake, what’s going on?”

            “That’s not Jake,” Sam says grimly, talking over her shouts. “We told you. Your boyfriend is in the morgue. He’s been dead for weeks. That thing killed him, Susanna, and has been pretending to be him since.”

            “What I don’t get,” Dean says, “is why. Why you came back.”

            “Because he loves her,” Sam says quietly, slowly walking towards the shifter and Susanna. “What did you do, watch them? Decide you wanted Jake’s life and Jake’s girl and kill him for it?”

            The shifter snarls. “We’re leaving.”

            “No, you’re not,” Sam says assuredly.

            “Let us go or I’ll…”

            “You’ll what?” Sam asks. “You’re not going to kill her. You wouldn’t have walked in that door if you would actually kill her. Besides,” Sam continues, “I don’t think she actually wants to leave with you. You’re not her boyfriend. You’re a monster.”

            The shifter releases Susanna to lunge at Sam. Susanna has the good sense to clear out of the way of the fighting shifter and hunter, Sam aiming his knife for the shifter’s heart. Dean charges forwards, but stops, unsure. If he shoots, he could just as easily hit Sam, the way the two of them are moving.

            It doesn’t turn out to be an issue. Sam stabs the shifter through the heart, the silver doing its job and killing the creature. Sam lets the body fall to the ground and steps back.

            “You okay?” Dean asks Sam.

            Sam grimaces. “Broke my fucking finger,” he says. “Help me get my ring off before my finger swells up too much.”

            Dean does, prying Sam’s wedding ring off the already-swelling digit. Sam pockets the silver band and looks over at Susanna.

            “You stay with her,” Dean says quietly. “I’ll deal with the body.” He doesn’t really want Sam anywhere near a burning corpse, and, besides, Susanna looks like she’s about to fall to pieces and, if one of them can help her, it’s Sam.

            Sam nods his understanding and helps Dean wrap the corpse before sitting Susanna down on the couch and sitting next to her.

            Dean dumps the wrapped body in the trunk of the Impala and drives off into the middle of nowhere, into the woods outside of town. He leaves his jacket and tie in the car and then he digs a shallow grave that he dumps the body into before adding some salt and lighting a match.

            He waits by the car while he waits for the flames to burn out, and his phone rings.

            “What’s up, Sam?” he asks.

            “Took Susanna down to the morgue,” he says. “She saw the body. She believes us now but she’s pretty messed up. She got caught up talking to the people there and I managed to slip away. There’s a bar, walking distance from the morgue. Can’t miss it. Meet me there?”

            “Sure thing, Sammy, soon as I finish up here,” Dean says. Sam makes a noise of acknowledgement and ends the call.

            Dean waits for the flames to burn out and then fills the grave in and drives to the bar.

            He puts his jacket and his tie back on before he goes in, partly to hide the dirt and sweat stains now adorning his shirt, but mostly because he knows how Sam feels about him in his suit. He suddenly gets a wicked idea and slips his wedding band off of his finger, dropping it into his pocket before entering the bar.

            It’s not hard to find Sam, who’s head and shoulders above everyone else at the bar. Dean saunters over and slides onto the stool next to Sam’s. “This seat taken?” he asks.

            Sam looks over at him and snorts. “Go ahead.”

            “Mmm, buy you a drink?” Dean asks, letting the cocky playboy tone he used to use so much tinge his words.  
            “Sorry, pal,” Sam says, smirking a bit. “I’m married.”

            “Don’t see a ring,” Dean says, looking down at Sam’s swollen and purpling left ring finger.

            “You’re married,” Sam says with an eyeroll.

            Dean holds out his own hand and makes a show of studying it. “Sorry, no. Don’t see a ring here, either.”

            Sam looks at Dean’s hand, almost as if to check. Dean catches Sam’s eye and taps his pocket, and Sam’s eyes fill with mischievous understanding.

            “Why the hell not, then?” he says. “I’d love a drink.”

            “Great,” Dean says with a grin that has charmed more than one person into his bed. “I’m Dean.”

            “Sam,” Sam says.

            “Nice to meet you, Sammy,” Dean says.

            “It’s _Sam_ ,” Sam insists, and Dean just grins, holding his hands up in a gesture of apology.

            Dean contemplates ordering something stupid for Sam like an Appletini, just to see the look Sam will give him, but ultimately decides against it. He gets them each a beer and they drink in silence for a moment.

            “So,” Dean asks, letting his free hand land on Sam’s knee, sliding up his thigh a few inches, “what’s a pretty boy like you doing here?”

            “Oh, yeah,” Sam snorts, “ _I’m_ the pretty one.”

            “Mhm, very pretty,” Dean confirms, grinning a bit now. “Bet you’d look even prettier spread out on my bed.”

            Sam raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Think I’m going to let you fuck me?”

            “I think you will,” Dean says. “In fact, I think I can make you _beg_ for it, Sammy.”

            “It’s Sam,” Sam mutters, true to form, but he smiles. “Let’s hope you’re more than just talk,” Sam says, hopping off his barstool.

            Dean flashes a grin as he throws some cash down to cover their drinks. ‘Don’t worry, pretty boy,” he says. “Promise I can deliver. My place?”

            Dean drives them back to the motel and unlocks the door.

            “Wow,” Sam says dryly as he walks in. “I’m touched. You’ve definitely pulled out all the stops for me.”

            The wallpaper may be peeling the there might be a weird water stain on the far wall, and the couch may be the ugliest print in the history of mankind, but Sam isn’t going to notice anything other than Dean and the bed that night, and Dean tells him so.

            “Big talk,” Sam taunts.

            Dean pushes Sam against the door and kisses him hard, nipping at Sam’s lower lip until he opens his mouth for him.

            “’M more that just talk, baby,” Dean promises, lazily grinding against Sam. “Told you I’d have you begging for me and I meant it, don’t worry.”

            “Then show me,” Sam says, leaning forward to nip at Dean’s neck. “Show me what you got.”

            Dean loosens the knot on Sam’s tie and tosses the tie onto the floor, steps away from the door and pulls Sam with him so he can push Sam’s jacket off, then begins to unbutton his shirt, untucking it from Sam’s pants and pushing that off as well.

            Sam’s hands reach for Dean’s tie, slowly and teasingly undoing the knot. “Mm, Anyone ever tell you you look really great in a suit?” Sam asks huskily as he finishes pulling out the tie.

            Dean chuckles as he shrugs off his jacket. “Once or twice,” he says as Sam undoes the buttons on Dean’s shirt. Dean kicks off his shoes once he’s shirtless and Sam follows suit.

            Dean starts walking Sam backwards to the bed, undoing Sam’s fly and pushing his pants and underwear down as they go, stopping just long enough to let Sam step out of them.

            “Just as pretty as I thought,” Dean teases, making Sam blush. He gently pushes Sam back onto the bed, and Sam lies back, head on the pillows and legs bent, thighs spread wide, watching Dean take his own pants off.

            Dean grabs the lube from where he and Sam left it the night before and returns to the bed, moving so he’s between Sam’s spread thighs. “Pretty tight little hole,” Dean says. “Gonna open you up, pretty boy, mmkay?” he asks. Sam nods, so Dean pours lube over his fingers and traces Sam’s rim with one lube-slicked finger until the muscle relaxes.

            “That’s it,” Dean encourages. “Relax, let me in. Let me make you feel good, baby, it’s gonna feel so good, promise.” Dean pushes one finger in, finding Sam’s prostate immediately, making Sam bite his lip to keep back a moan.

            “Don’t be shy,” Dean says. “Let me hear you, wanna hear you beg for more, baby.” He pushes a second finger in alongside the first and continues to tease Sam’s sweet spot, watching with a smug grin as Sam’s stomach muscles twitch and his cock leaks, as his eyes fall shut in pleasure and his mouth falls slack, letting out a steady stream of moans and whimpers.

            Dean pushes a third finger in and Sam whimpers. “C’mon, Sammy, beg for it,” Dean encourages. “Get loud for me, Sammy, tell me what you want.”

            “ _Please,_ ” Sam gasps. “Please, god, fuck me, need…”

            Dean began pressing kisses to Sam’s inner thigh. “What do you need?”

            Sam doesn’t answer for a moment, doesn’t seem capable of answering, but he eventually gets his voice back and moans, “need you, in me, god, _please_.”

            Dean pulls his fingers from Sam and moves up the bed, sitting with his back to the headboard, making his lap available to Sam. “Go ahead,” he says. “Ride me, pretty boy, take what you need.”

            Sam does, immediately moving himself to Dean’s lap and sinking down onto Dean’s cock, not stopping until it’s fully seated inside of Sam. Sam wraps his arms over Dean’s shoulders to give himself some leverage, and then bends forward, lips brushing Dean’s ear, and whispers “my turn.”

            Dean is about to ask what Sam means when it becomes clear, Sam slowly and torturously grinding his hips, adjusting the angle once so the movement has Sam moaning. He continues the slow, deliberately torturous pace, making Dean’s eyes nearly roll back with how good it is, but still somehow not enough.

            “C’mon, Dean,” Sam says, voice breathless. “Tell me what you want.”

            “Fuck, _more_ , need more, baby,” Dean begs. “ _Please_.”

            Sam grins. “That’s what I like to hear,” he says, pushing himself up so he almost slides completely off Dean’s cock before sliding back down. Dean moves his hands to Sam’s hips to help him keep up the fast, hard strokes and Sam soon takes one of his hands off of Dean’s shoulder and brings it to his own cock, his strokes fast and rough.

            “That’s it, baby,” Dean encourages, voice rough. “That’s it, get yourself off, come on, baby.” He pulls Sam down into a particularly hard thrust, and brings his lips to Sam’s ear. “Come for me, my beautiful husband, come _now_.”

            Sam throws his head back and comes hard, whimpering and moaning through it as Dean continues to fuck into him, but the sound of Sam’s moans and the feeling of Sam’s spasming hole is enough to send Dean over too. Dean’s head falls back against the headboard as he pants out Sam’s name, hips stuttering a few more times before they still.

            Dean picks his head back up as soon as he feels he has the strength to and chuckles brokenly. “You’re definitely the best lay I ever brought home from a bar, Sammy,” he rasps, raising one hand to push Sam’s hair out of his eyes.

            Sam snorts. “You’re an ass,” he says.

            It takes some doing, but Dean manages to roll them so Sam’s lying on the bed, Dean on top of him, softening cock slipping out of Sam’s hole. Dean crawls up Sam’s body and peppers kisses over his face before capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.

            “Best ever,” he promises after. “Only one that matters, my fucking perfect husband.”

            Sam smiles dopily up at him. “Yeah?”

            Dean kisses him again. “Love you, Sammy,” he says as he climbs off of Sam.

            Sam reaches out for Dean but he’s already out of reach. “Where you goin’?” he asks.

            “Right back,” Dean promises, and sure enough a minute later he returns with a washcloth in one hand and his pants in the other.

            He cleans them both up quickly but gently, infinitely tender as he cleans around Sam’s puffy hole. He drops the cloth on the floor for them to worry about in the morning and reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out his ring, dropping the pants and sliding the ring onto his finger.

            Sam smiles softly. “Bring me my pants?” he asks, and Dean does.

            Sam grabs the ring. “You’re never going to get that on,” Dean cautions. But Sam doesn’t seem to mind, instead slipping the ring onto his right ring finger.

            “Don’t like not wearing it,” he admits. “Feel naked without it.”

            “You are naked,” Dean points out, but he knows exactly what Sam means. He climbs back into bed and pulls Sam close, his head resting against Dean’s chest, and lifts Sam’s right hand to his lips, kissing the palm, each fingertip, his knuckles, and then the ring, leaving his lips pressed to the metal, slowly warming between Sam’s skin and Dean’s lips.

            “I love you, Sammy,” Dean murmurs against Sam’s skin.

            Sam chuckles and turns to press a kiss to Dean’s throat. “I know,” he says. “Love you too.”


End file.
